Lacarnum Inflamarae
by Dena Gray
Summary: She set him on fire as a First Year; how high will the flames grow now that she's all grown up? A winding, contemplative tale of D/s for those of us with less-defined roles. EWE, HGSS, A/U, Rated M. Seriously, Rated M.
1. Chapter 1

Lacarnum Inflamarae

A note from the author: This was inspired by a prompt from the wonderful Tyche Song, for an "any pair, any ship" BDSM fest about a year ago. Of course, my favorite pairing is HGSS, so that was a no-brainer, but the BDSM was a bit tough for me, to write both interestingly and responsibly...thus the delay.

I think the biggest reason people choose BDSM lifestyles is to learn balance, acceptance, tolerance and patience. To that end, I have written something a bit apart from some of the lovely fics written about our favorite couple that talk about Domination and submission. This is more about those of us who are thrust into the role of a top—or a bottom—without the necessary personality or tools to handle it. Sometimes, when we are forced into roles so opposite our personalities, we need a little of the opposite extreme to balance that out.

Another note: I have a bit in the story on goose paté. Please understand that the views I'm writing are simply how I would see these characters express them, not necessarily how I feel about it. I know that this is a sensitive subject in both directions, so please remain calm. I am writing fanfiction, here, after all.

So without further ado, I present the first chapter of Lacarnum Inflamarae, titled "Lorem Ipsum"

_**Lorem Ipsum - 1914 translation by H. Rackham**_

_"But I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system, and expound the actual teachings of the great explorer of the truth, the master-builder of human happiness. No one rejects, dislikes, or avoids pleasure itself, because it is pleasure, but because those who do not know how to pursue pleasure rationally encounter consequences that are extremely painful. Nor again is there anyone who loves or pursues or desires to obtain pain of itself, because it is pain, but because occasionally circumstances occur in which toil and pain can procure him some great pleasure. To take a trivial example, which of us ever undertakes laborious physical exercise, except to obtain some advantage from it? But who has any right to find fault with a man who chooses to enjoy a pleasure that has no annoying consequences, or one who avoids a pain that produces no resultant pleasure?"_

_**My interpretation that inspired this story – 2013**_

_A man will not seek out pleasure until he has been exposed to it—that if he doesn't know what it is, he will continuously seek out pain. Once he understands that with a bit of pain, he may obtain pleasure, he will continue to work hard to do so, but once it is revealed to him that he may pursue pleasure for its own benefit, he will do so wholeheartedly._

Of a late spring evening at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the current Headmaster was sat somewhat comfortably in a brown, tufted leather settee, trying to read. After a few quiet moments, and with a disgusted snort, he tossed down the newest installment of a rather popular serial novel. Not for the subject matter or even the quality of work—it was actually rather decent and would normally keep his attention—but he felt...just...antsy.

Nothing was satisfying, anymore. Nothing held the same flavor of life. It felt as if most of his life's zeal had bled out on the floor of the Shrieking Shack almost two years ago, and the rest had been slowly hemorrhaging ever since.

Well, the first few months back after recuperation and reinstatement had been rather entertaining, watching Minerva, Filius and Pomona fawn all over their apologies, but that wasn't nearly enough to keep him through the past few months.

Running the school was a relentless task, something that, intellectually, he enjoyed, but as the furor of the war died, as the school reclaimed its pomp and regalia, his enjoyment in living the life of Hogwarts' Headmaster just...fizzled.

There was no great evil to hold at bay. There was no greater power to foil. Even the Prophet heralded him as the most powerful wizard alive, but when he looked in the mirror every morning, he certainly didn't feel like it.

No, Severus Snape, Headmaster of Hogwarts, was finally becoming bored.

He couldn't think of any other position in the British wizarding world more important than the administration and protection of the foremost magical education facility in Britain, and he really liked his job, most days. He liked the tedium, the normality, even the bureaucracy...but somehow...within the past few months, it had begun to feel..._not enough_.

Something was missing, and to hear Poppy talk, he just needed a companion. Offering herself in that position required no small amount of diplomacy on his part to convince her otherwise and keep her as school matron. Honestly, what need had he of a companion? He had friends, he had acquaintances, what the hell difference did it make, when he'd gone this much in life without one?

He sighed disconsolately, setting his elbow on the arm of the sofa to rest his head in his hand. Maybe he just needed a break. Maybe—maybe he just needed to suck it up, but damn it if he wasn't getting tired of being the one always tasked with making the self-sacrificing choices in life.

Pulling off his silver-framed readers, he tossed them onto the occasional table beside him, warily watching the glass candle globe tilt and wobble slightly when his elbow jarred against the wood. Just as he settled back and calipered his temples with one hand, a soft hissing and crackling noise along with a flash of green caught his attention and indicated a floo-caller.

Hmm. Not that he really wanted to entertain in this mood, but really, it could only be Lucius. He flicked his wand to open the floo and waited for the head governor to show his face. Who else would be coming to the school via the Headmaster's private quarters at seven in the evening?

Ah. Who indeed?

He pushed that pat acknowledgment to the back of his brain and greeted his long-time friend with an outstretched hand. Lucius took it with a cough and a smile, spelling his now-impeccable midnight blue robes clean.

"Headmaster."

"Governor."

They stared at each other with silent amusement for a few moments before Lucius finally broke, "Great Merlin, Severus, have you gone completely unkempt?"

When all he got in response was a vaguely affronted glare, he elaborated, "Your hair hasn't been that long since you were attending these classes yourself...And that _beard_! Channeling Hagrid, are we?"

Severus did not deign that with a reply, and instead asked, "What can I do for you, Lucius? I can't think you came here to chastise my tonsorial choices."

"No, I haven't. Narcissa was complaining we were out of that lovely faun brandy and since my next shipment from France won't be ready until Thursday, I was wondering if you could spare a bottle?"

That reason smacked of insincerity, but who was he to call Lucius on it? His old friend knew damned well he didn't drink, and yet had presented him with a case of brandy for his birthday a few months back. "Yes, of course." It had stung, a bit, to have such a long time acquaintance give such an insensitive gift, but that was Lucius.

Well, it _was_ Lucius, at any rate. He'd been showing signs of being a bit more considerate of late, but that could just be an upswing in his overall profits. One never quite knew for sure with Lucius.

Severus stepped aside to his liquor cabinet and spelled it to open, pulling the entire case out to hand back to the school governor.

He didn't miss the slightly hurt expression on the blond's face, but deftly ignored it. "Here, take as many as you like."

"Severus."

Lucius' tone was chastising and Severus really didn't want to hear it. "What," he responded with flat aggravation.

"Why don't you have any out? I thought it would be a nice accompaniment should you need to wrangle Ministry officials to do your bidding. Or to calm upset parents. Circe knows, you've upset many this past year alone."

Severus stopped short, looking at the gift in this new light. Put that way, it wasn't so damned insensitive. It was damned convenient. Why hadn't he thought of it that way? Ah, bugger and fuck it. Lucius could take the lot now, it'd be no skin off his nose. The school year was nearly over, anyway.

He looked to his old friend and sighed, tipping up a shoulder in nonchalance. "That's what I've got you for, to smooth ruffled feathers. I'm sure many a mama would rather have you visit them than be handed a dose of questionable liquid fortification by their former Potions Master."

Lucius leveled a steady and questioning gaze back at Severus, and it was a moment before he replied, "Perhaps...then again, I can see you haven't even tried."

There was something about the way he said it that set Severus' teeth on edge. It sounded entirely too much like the matchmaking wheedling of his female staff and he really, really did not need to be reminded of that. It was bad enough to have such drivel cast at him from his faculty, much worse for it to be bandied about in what was supposed to be friendly conversation.

And truth be told, he didn't need the likes of Lucius Malfoy chastising him on his managerial behavior, nor on his personal grooming. Who was he to judge? What the hell did Lucius know of what he'd tried and not tried? "Take your damned brandy and hie off to someone who cares. I don't have time for your incessant _badgering_."

Lucius stared him down with an unnervingly Dumbledorean twinkle, tucking his chin with a dubious expression meant to pry.

Severus was just shy of telling Lucius just where he could go, when his friend relented.

"Severus, Narcissa and I are worried about you—"

He puffed an air of irritation out and shoved the case of brandy into the blond's hands. "Stop, before you hurt yourself. I've never needed mollycoddling, and I'm not about to start. So, forbearing repetition, take your devil's brew back to your wife and leave me be."

"Severus—"

The Headmaster cut his irritating and nosy friend off with a warning glare. Lucius sighed resignedly through his perfectly-shapen nostrils and flooed away.

With a vicious jab, Severus sent a spell to block the floo and cursed, loudly.

He cursed his nosy friend for thinking he could just come over and throw his worries on him; he cursed his meddling staff for thinking they could tell him what to do with his life; and he cursed himself for not knowing why he even considered listening to them in the first place.

Everything was fine. He just needed to set his mind straight and get over it.

_It was Fine._

The rest of his night was spent in a restless, unproductive fuss about his chambers. He didn't even have a decent potion puzzle to tinker with. Catching sight of himself in a mirror, he cringed.

Lucius was right about one thing. His beard was starting to look like Hagrid's.

A/N: You know what I want ;)


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Narcissa watched her husband of so many years pace grooves in the Kazak rug that sprawled in geometric brilliance across the parlor floor. Thank Circe she'd had the protection charms renewed or he'd quickly wear a hole in the centuries old carpet. She released the magic running her tatting for baby Scorpio's presentation gown with a cluck of her tongue and turned to Lucius in annoyance. "You should leave him be, dearest. I'm sure he just wants the opportunity to clear his mind."

He barely glanced at her before turning and pacing back to the fireplace. Looking over his shoulder, he responded distractedly, "Darling, I simply can't. We were brethren for too many years for me to forget him like this."

Why was Lucius so upset? Their friend just wanted a respite from society. She could certainly understand that with all the hectic responsibilities of war behind them and those of the school before him. Why couldn't her husband see that? She pinched the bridge of her nose and pointed out, again, "You're not forgetting him, you're letting him live his life the way he wants to. That's apparently without the amenities we're so fond of."

Her beautifully blond husband shook his head in frustration, "Yes, but it _feels_ like forgetting. He doesn't come round for tea unless we absolutely force him, when he used to voluntarily drop by nearly weekly. Remember back when Draco was a young lad? He was almost a fixture, here."

"That was almost twenty years ago, my love. He was required to do so, then—things have changed. And that's putting it lightly."

"I just can't see him wanting to cloister himself off like this."

"That's not your concern, it's his."

Lucius shook his head again and stopped to stare at his wife, wanting to make his point plain, "You didn't see his chambers, Cissy. They're barren."

She blinked curiously at his expression of disgust, "There are entire cultures of living based on a minimalist lifestyle. It's not wrong."

He gestured helplessly and struck a thoughtful, confused pose facing the fireplace, "He didn't use any of the bottles of brandy we gifted him for his birthday. The case had been untouched. He hasn't even used it in the office, like I told him to."

And he had that choice to do with their gift as he pleased, which is why they gave the case to him in the first place. They were his to enjoy as he saw fit, whether it was within a few months, a few years or even to give them all away as gifts. She still didn't see why her husband was so...upset. She prompted him with a suggestion, "There are worse things than having not used an entire case of faun-made brandy in five months."

His light, hectic gaze snapped back to her, "I saw no sign of his intention to use it at all, and to look at him, I'd question if he's ever actually partaken in any of the extras we've sent him since the Ministry reopened our vaults last year."

Her husband moved closer and dropped to his knees before her in urgent need to make her believe him, "You should see him, darling. He's almost emaciated...unkempt. He looks worse than he did when he was Headmaster before, during the Dark Lord's reign."

Her husband may have finally won his point on their friend's dire need, but she still wasn't entirely sure. Severus had always been stoic, withdrawn. Especially after Lily's death and that whole affair with Voldemort. She could easily understand why he'd want to close himself off like this and if not for Lucius, she would probably have done the same after the Dark Lord's passing. Lucius was a lovely man at heart, but sometimes his interpersonal skills were lacking. She raised an eyebrow to her husband and chided him, "He's selectively sequestered himself off away inside that school and away from any visitors. When the man seems to want nothing to do with society, you try to pry him out of it by condemning his _sobriety_?"

"That's hundred year old brandy you're talking about."

"I know that, Lucius, but try to be a little more sensitive, please." That was, after all, one of the many exercises in restraint they'd been given.

Lucius stood, removing himself to the center of the room again, clearly not pleased with being chastised for his caring behavior. He sullenly struck out, challenging Narcissa, "Well, if I'm so wrong, why don't you try to coax him? Hmm?"

Her face contorted into something very unladylike, somewhere between a scoff and a smug sneer, "I'm sure I could do better than what you've done." And why her husband hadn't thought of Hermione, she couldn't fathom. It sounded like just the thing Severus needed.

Lucius reared back his head and flipped his hair back from his face. "Is that so? Well, then, why don't you?"

There was a pause between them and Narcissa realized that Lucius really was very concerned for their friend, and if he was this concerned, she should take this seriously and try to help him. It would be up to her to outmaneuver the Head Slytherin, and prove to her husband that his brand of manipulation was a bit too Gryffindor to work.

She thought about what it would take to get Severus and Hermione 'reintroduced', so to speak, and after a few moments contemplating the angles, thought she'd come across just the thing. She smirked in slow triumph. It occurred to her that Lucius was whinging to her as an appeal for help and at this point, she could seize advantage of the situation. If she could pull this off, there would be no more room for competition between them as to who was the best Slytherin in the house.

With that in mind, she tilted her head and asked of her husband, "Will you promise to let me handle it? Not to push or wrangle your way into it and do everything I ask of you to fullfill this goal without complaint?"

He inhaled sharply, and slowly nodded his head once. It was a mark of how truly concerned he was that he gave his concession so quickly. However, before she could smirk again and fly off to make plans, he had a concession of his own to request, "Only if you tell me what exactly it is you're thinking of doing, my sweet."

She blinked at him, feigning innocence, and he moved behind her to rest his elegant hands on her neat shoulders. Leaning down, he purred in her ear, "I love it when you take charge, you know that."

She smiled at her love, truly happy, and leaned into his head with her own. He was so lovely now that he was back to being a charmer, now that Hermione had helped them out of the drowning vacuum left after Riddle's absence. Narcissa rubbed her cheek against the fine, silken heft of her husband's hair and purred back, "Don't you think, all he needs is a little...direction?"

They broke slightly apart to raise eyebrows at each other, she in arrogance, he in surprise.

She took the moment to maximum effect by stating baldly, "I plan to introduce him to our Hermione."

Lucius chuckled and bussed his wife on her very smooth cheek. "Oh, Cissa, come on. While her brand of care would certainly benefit him, he's practically a Capuchin."

She reared back, wary. "Don't tell me he's grown a beard. He has such a lovely jawline."

There was his devilish chuckle again. "Oh, absolutely, you should see it! Regardless, just how in Hades would you even attempt to get Severus Snape into the same room as she?"

He thought he had her, but she was merely gathering information.

With a mysterious smile, she reached for the tatting needles, straightening a mislaid loop before responding lightly, "Oh...I have my ways..."

Lucius smiled in secret triumph behind his wife as he caressed her shoulders.

* * *

A/N: Hmm! Something tells me Lucius is up to something! What do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Hermione was a reliable witch, organized and efficient and generally the one to whom people gravitated when they had a problem to fix, and that is exactly what landed her in the middle of a paper-strewn desk in a partially-hidden broom closet on the administrative level of the Ministry of Magic working as the chief and sole liaison for the Cultural Collaboration Initiative. With a snort, she stacked another scroll atop the ever-growing pile atop her desk and reminded herself that at least she had a charmed window. What was left of a strained and put-upon positive attitude clouded over when her door opened outwardly to admit the Minister of Magic, himself.

Kingsley nodded and greeted her with pleasant familiarity, glancing about the full room for a place to stand.

There wasn't any.

Hermione sighed inwardly, careful not to show her frustration to the most politically powerful wizard in Britain. If he didn't insist on her being so damned close to him, in an area of the ministry that was so completely stretched to magical bounds without the addition of such a small room, then he might have had a place to sit. She might have even had something like room for a tea table, or even room for a small kettle, but honestly, there was barely enough room for elbows in this place.

She looked at the corners of the room and wondered if they inched in on her when she wasn't looking.

The Minister cleared his throat and looked at her as she sat behind a waterfall of scrolls, all notations on her biggest Ministry-appointed project: A collection of interviews of the Muggleborn and Pureblood populace along with their perceptions on reforming Wizarding Britain after its Voldemortian post-war reparation.

That was the working title, at least.

His deep, melodious voice was too large for the room, but Hermione bore it with a smile, "Have you finished the outline of the interviews you've performed so far? I need Marietta to review them before she writes my speech for tomorrow's conference."

She could feel the blood leech from her face as his words registered with her. "What?" His expression never faltered, so she assumed he was serious. "No. You didn't tell me you needed that _today_." She reached over and started rolling up one of fifteen scrolls laid across her desk to hide the fact that she'd written several drafts of the outline already. Kingsley wouldn't understand that even the latest version needed heavy editing in order to be presentable. Clutching several scrolls to her chest, she gave him a slightly panicked look, which wasn't far from what she was feeling, "Everything I have is still in notation. I need time to put it together and I still have my last interview tonight."

At least, she hoped it would be her last interview. Not that she'd not liked the assignment, or the clients...or the satisfaction from the resultant further obligations that came about...but a girl can only slip so much under the radar with the Ministry and there were only so many hours in the day.

Wincing at her weak-worded argument, Hermione shored up her defense by reminding herself that working fifteen hours a day and most every weekend was worth the results of her little side-project. Even if it wasn't so very little. Kingsley wouldn't and didn't have to know that she really 'worked' with the Cultural Collaboration Initiative's purpose in mind with much farther reaching efforts than originally intended. What he didn't know, couldn't hurt him, and the way he quoted exit polls and public favor statistics definitely meant she needed to keep from giving him anything he didn't want to hear.

He tilted his head down to give her a look that said he wasn't buying her delay tactic. "Time is one thing we do not have, Miss Granger. The polls are reporting disfavor with the progress I've apparently not made with advancing muggleborn-pureblood interrelations and I've got to hit them hard at the international summit. I brought you in for this one purpose, Hermione. Please. I need your commitment—that Gryffindor determination you're so famous for." He finished with a politically charming smile that made her feel slightly ill, but shored up her resolve to stand her ground.

She took a deep breath and smiled back, "Minister—Kingsley...Thank you, but I am only one witch. If I could have a team, even just one more person—"

He interrupted her and turned on the charm,"But who? There is no one I can trust more to complete this task than you. You're the only one even qualified to work with this task and I need your golden fame in my corner. If I bring in more people, the public will only view that as our incapability. No. I'm sorry, but you must simply work harder."

Her mouth dropped open in shock and she dropped the scrolls to the desk again, "Kingsley!"

"We've already discussed the terms," he said with a meaningful look at her wand, sitting meekly beside her hand on the papered desk. "You know how important this collaboration is to all of us."

She really did not want the reminder that she'd been forced into this position or have her wand snapped. Because she did not want that reminder, nor the reminder of the pleasant work she'd left behind, her response was less than respectful. "You haven't left me with any choice in the matter, sir. I don't have the option of not making this work, but I'm already working to capacity." She blinked at him when he seemed to not comprehend and spread her fingers across the desk to indicate the fifteen thick scrolls in front of her. "This is what I have, but I can't work any faster _and_ complete the interviews as you've assigned them to me."

He stared long at her, obviously wanting her to say something further, but when she didn't offer anything else, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I need more from you. Have it on my desk by tomorrow morning. That's as much time as I can give you."

She felt the tell-tale prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes but swallowed them down as the minister swept out the door in his peacock blue robes. How on earth was she going to finish this up before her final meeting with the Malfoys tonight? Her current mindset was nowhere near where it needed to be and the slightest falter would ruin all her efforts.

Taking a deep breath, she centered herself, leading herself through the emotional control methods she used on her...clients. It was a very little known and particular secret that Hermione's interviews with the pureblood populace had turned up an interesting vacuum in power that she'd taken it upon herself to help...solve. Nothing illegal, mind, nor was it illicit. More...of a public service.

Besides, who else was there to pick up the floundering morass of wizards and witches who'd been relying on either Dumbledore or Voldemort for direction in their lives? Kingsley wasn't interested in teaching the populace about standing on their own and finding their own control methods, and Harry wasn't going to do it; he was one of the ones that needed help. Anyone else in the ministry even minded towards this goal would be a sadistic tyrant, ie: Umbrage.

Really, there wasn't anyone else qualified to do what she did.

There. She took another deep breath and felt herself calm, pulling out the parchment from the bottom of the scroll stack that had her third draft of Kingsley's outline. It needed severe fleshing out, but there was only so much time to work on it. If she sent it off now, Marietta's whining would have Kingsley kick her out of magical Britain for sure.

She checked the time with a quick Tempus charm and noted that she had about an hour and a half before she needed to be at the Malfoys. Rummaging through her top drawer, she found her Ever-Inking Quill and started to work.

An hour later, she had a fairly well fleshed out piece and sat back to read it over.

Maybe if she just fixed this part...There! She tapped her wand to the parchment to pull out all of the ink blots and crossed out sections, seal it, and ready it for delivery tomorrow morning.

It would just have to do. The Malfoys were waiting.

A/N: Hmm! Tell me what you think!


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: Special Thanks to Perry Downing for her mad beta skills! Hmm. I'm assuming we're all on the same page that my Malfoys are slightly OOC? Oui? Non? Dommage! Maintenant, lirez!

:blinks: Ahem. ;)

chapter 4

"Now, I think your . . . cultural conditioning has progressed enough that I won't need to see you as my—_ahem_—clients for the time being." Hermione paused and looked up with glittering eyes from packing away her clipboard to her longest-term clients sitting patiently across the parlor table from her, "What do you think?"

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy exchanged glances and tried valiantly to keep their smirks under control. Narcissa spoke for the both of them, "It's always so darling when you call it 'cultural conditioning'."

Hermione's false seriousness finally broke and she smiled back easily, "Well, that's what this started out as. I don't even think I can classify what we do as marriage counseling, much less what it should probably be called. At least not on an official document, anyway."

Lucius chuckled quietly, "Marriage Counseling, now, are we? That's not what your 'list' called it."

"And I'll thank you to keep that list between us, still, if you don't mind. Anyway, do you _want_ me to report domination and discipline exercises as our weekly activities to the Ministry?" Her flirtatious tone desperately hid her fear that he would say 'yes'.

They all shared significant glances just before breaking out in soft laughter. Lucius stood and helped his wife to her feet before turning and offering a polite hand to Hermione, "They'd never believe it, and it might prove entertaining to watch whomever decides to read your reports. How go the rest of your charges? I know I was the one that encouraged you to enlist more clients, but dear, you're looking positively peaked. Do you save _any_ time to yourself, anymore?"

The younger woman took her client's hand and stood up gracefully, slinging her reticule over her shoulder and leading the way out to the foyer. She was quietly impressed with the level of care Lucius Malfoy was exibiting to a Muggleborn and felt a bit proud of herself for it. Replying with a smirk over her shoulder, "Now, now, _dear, _you know I don't kiss and tell," she headed to the foyer and purposefully ignored the closed doors to the drawing room on her way.

Lucius made a small noise of discontent, "No, you don't kiss at all. Much to our disappointment_. Ooof!_"

"Speak for yourself, husband."

Both blondes looked to each other with arched eyebrows and Hermione cackled, "_There's_ something of a project for you to work on: finding your boundaries. And Lucius, you know I love you both, but I am a strictly non-intimate Domme. Nothing personal and no touching."

"Just bossy."

Hermione cocked an eyebrow of her own in playful warning to Lucius, but Narcissa batted him on the shoulder.

"Oh, don't worry about him, Hermione. I do worry about your social schedule, though. It is sorely lacking for you to be able to spend any of your personal time on what's come of this Ministry project."

Thinking back to six months ago, when Kingsley dropped this little bombshell on Hermione's laboratory desk, she was reminded of how simple her life was in the almost two years post-war. There she'd been, happily plugging away at her nerve-calming potion—focused on the aftereffects of the Cruciatus Curse—in the Ministry Office of Research, when out of the blue came the Minister with an outlandish proposal that she bring her outstanding organizational skills to bear fruit in a new program . . . or seek new employment elsewhere.

Designed to help those displaced or effected by the changing cultural climate, the new Cultural Collaboration Initiative was his answer to the public's growing malcontent with the Ministry. His true goal, he'd said, was to really use it to help prevent any such nonsense as blood status from creating such a rift in their society ever again. Since Arthur had retired from public life after the loss of his son, Kingsley zeroed in on his favorite Muggleborn, who happened to be renowned for championing cultural equality and working her arse off to do it.

What did he care if her potions research was nearly finished? Somebody else could take it over, couldn't they?

Hermione didn't like it, but Kingsley's little threat about snapping her wand kept her mouth closed and her mind open.

Apparently, it was being bandied about the Ministry that Kingsley was losing political favor; and _apparently, _he'd really gotten a taste for it. His (and Marietta's) untenable (and petty) behavior was the main reason Hermione had spawned her little sub-project right under his nose. What better way to keep their attention elsewhere while she released her nerve-calming potion to the general public?

She just couldn't let her creation come under the control of a still-financially unsound government, and not wanting to cause too much friction between her and the Ministry, Hermione had only used her initials—HG—and published the calming potion in Witch Weekly as an easily available bath soak. It wasn't like she needed the money after her Order of Merlin stipend and biweekly paycheck from the Ministry, anyway, and there were people who really needed a tonic of the like and couldn't afford an apothecary or licensed potioneer.

That and no one would have given her credibility a second thought once they caught hold of the side effects. Intense and temporary sexual arousal was only a bad thing in public, therefore her idea to use it as a bath soak was born. Once the water was dried off, the sensitivity waned.

Tie in the clandestine use of her now six-month old position, and voila: Instant Calamity should the Ministry ever find out.

She sighed quietly in frustration.

"Hermione?"

She blinked back to Narcissa, shaking herself out of the inner narrative of her mind. "I'm sorry, off in the clouds. What did you ask me?"

The older woman's expression was dubious, "Do take better care of yourself, darling, I'm worried about you. Could we entice you to dinner later in the week, now that we won't be seeing you professionally for a while?"

Narcissa was likely remembering Hermione's strict rule of no fraternization with a client, and that rule had been in good stead, saving her from a number of awkward occasions. Ronald being a current one. Dinner with the Malfoys, however, sounded like a lovely idea, especially since they were so far along with their 'conditioning' that they would no longer truly require her services.

She smiled in return and said, "I'd love to. I'll floo you with my schedule tomorrow."

The happy exchange between the older couple warmed Hermione's heart. These were people that had been at the opposite end of the cultural spectrum from her, and here they were asking her to dinner. Between that and being able to help them round out their lives after the vacuum of power Voldemort's and Dumbledore's deaths left behind, Hermione was a satisfied woman.

Narcissa snagged her aside before she could exit and not-so-casually asked, "Darling, would you please owl me that _recipe_ again? I've misplaced it. Do you mind?"

Hermione smiled at the reaffirmation that her previous side project had been successful. "Of course. I'll send it right over."

She kept smiling as she stalked off to the apparation point just outside the Malfoy gates, mentally checking herself for having even the smallest hint of disappointment in herself. Narcissa was right, she had no social life.

It wasn't her fault her fantasies were so ridiculously far-fetched, nor was it her _fault _that the current Headmaster of Hogwarts was so frequently starring in her midnight dreams. She spun off home with a crack and dropped her reticule and work notes on the entry table in her lovely town home, shrugging out of her work robes and toeing off her shoes to pad barefoot across the marble floors.

God, the cold floor felt good against her poor feet.

A shudder racked through her body as she finally let go the veneer of pleasantry she kept nailed in place during her interactions with other people. It actually felt good not to smile, to let herself not even have an expression on her face. Working for the ministry . . . for the Minister . . . one had to keep a calm and ever-so-slightly happy look on one's face or the gossip hounds would find some reason to look into your life.

Not that they'd find much.

That and Marietta Edgecomb, Kingsley's speechwriter, would always find some way to make her life hell if she even had an inkling that Hermione hadn't wanted the position she was in. It was bad enough that she'd finally found a way to put pressure on her with Kingsley.

Hermione sighed disconsolately and wished for her friendships with Harry and Ron back. Harry would set Kingsley straight, and Ron would figure out some way to get Marietta to shut up. Not that she couldn't do all that herself, but it would feel nice to have that kind of camaraderie again.

Harry was now married to Ginny, with their second-born only weeks away, and the pair of them were the darlings of Wizarding Britain. Ron was currently dating a mob of women on the off season of professional Quidditch and was being criticized by the press for showing a bit of a pudge.

They were also both her "clients" because of the stresses of their public lives. All of this together made it very difficult to have a night out as just friends.

She sighed and shook her head again, tossing the most recent Daily Prophet into the bin, then went through the motions of every night: feeding Crooks, checking for owls, changing into her pyjamas . . .

The motions became automatic until she found herself uncorking a new bottle of wine. When had a bottle of red become her evening companion? Why, she asked herself. Why was this her nightly ritual and not going out to parties like Ron, or having a family like Harry? Was it her fate in life to help everyone else but herself?

Would it be horrible for her to have something that _she_ wanted, and not something that someone else wanted _of_ or _for_ her? A brief flash of the face from her midnight dreaming sneered back in her brain that she was, indeed, fated to live for others and that to expect personal gratification was utterly absurd.

Her face scrunched up in a brief moment of pain before she downed nearly a half of her glass. Honestly, she didn't know if she had the extroversion the boys had in living their lives in the spotlight. It was easier to be swallowed up in the machine of the Ministry. She briefly wondered what she could do otherwise with her life and came up short. The Collaboration Initiative at least gave her a worthy purpose . . . and a chance to possibly see the Headmaster of Hogwarts from time to time. After all, there was the Anniversary Ball in a week being held at Hogwarts, and her newly approved Introductory Tea for Muggleborn students and their families to coordinate. Surely she could catch a few words with the man . . . maybe catch his attention . . .

Hmph. Then again, how was she, a former student and pain his side, supposed to gain _his_ attention? Strut up to Severus Snape and strip? He'd probably have her committed after having a good laugh. Hermione allowed herself a brief, disconsolate sigh at that thought. Snape would likely never even give her the time of day, much less attention enough to notice her. No, it was better—safer—to try some other way to gain satisfaction and control over her life.

That was a depressing thought that needed a good drink. She took a generous pull of her wine, took the bottle to the sofa and spent the night alternating between fantasizing over the Anniversary Ball where she was mentally dancing with Snape, and reading the next installment of her favorite serial novel.


	5. Chapter 5

Double Chapter today, my dears! I've been working like MAD while the housing industry is booming, trying to build up for when it's bare later this summer, so I apologize for the loooooooong delay in updating. I must admit to taking a guilty pleasure when it arrived: I entered the Avon Fanlit writing competition hosted by JukePop. The first chapters are up for voting, so head over to Jukepop's Avon Fanlit page and vote (for me!) :D I'm listed under this name (Dena Gray) and my cover art is their generic compass image. It's the only one with a compass as the cover image. Seriously, guys, I'd love it if you voted for me, but just head over and enjoy or participate in the competition, either by writing or voting or both! It's hella fun!

So, here we are with our favorite couple. A bit more exposition, then we get to see them meet! Whee! Get your welding shields ready, cause here there be fireworks! :D

**Chapter 5**

It was a few days later, as the sun broke the horizon, that a buffeting at the window interrupted him. He looked up from a rather lengthy report on the Ministry's newly established Cultural Collaboration Initiative and it's relative success to find the Malfoy Eagle Owl glaring absurdly back at him.

The damned bird nearly broke the delicate panes of glass trying to get his attention and he threw a few sparks from his wand at the window to try and scare off the bird, but it just glowered at him in disdain and sat its huge self upon the deep stone sill.

Bloody Lucius, trying to straighten him out again, most likely. He pinched the bridge of his nose and mentally muttered, 'If I want a damned beard I can bloody well have one, and if I want to sequester myself away from buffoons, I _can._'

Another, tiny, barely heard part of his brain secretly wished for Lucius, or someone, to provide a logical reason for him to enter society at large, or even try to care what others thought, but Severus quickly squashed that thought since it meant he'd have to admit Poppy was right. And that Lucius was right.

They obviously intended well, but why couldn't they just leave well enough alone? Severus huffed and thought that perhaps Lucius didn't think he _was_ 'well enough'. He stormed over to the window directly in front of the stupid bird, knowing it wouldn't leave until it had delivered its message. What Lucius would never understand, however, was the immaculate and driving need to be...careless, free from decision or obligation. Not permanently, not in any large scale, but...perhaps...just...sometimes.

At least up here in his office, very few people bothered him. His staff was so proficient, they barely needed his interference or guidance and he liked it that way. Hell, the Malfoys were the only ones who even had access to his floo, bar the Ministry. He snatched the string off the bird's leg and nearly lost his hand in the process. Why in blue blazes Lucius had to get the biggest damned owl in England, he'd never know. Severus would much prefer something quiet and unobtrusive, like a barn owl.

Giving the bird nothing more than a frigid stare in recompense, it ruffled its feathers and 'hoo'd' in disdain before slapping him on the head with its ridiculously enormous wing as it took flight.

He shot a stinging hex after the bird, narrowly missing its massive tail feathers in an attempt to have the final say, "Do that ever again, and I'll fill my belly with owl for dinner."

He watched it fly off through the trees and went back to his desk to read his missive from House Malfoy.

_Dearest Severus, _

Oh for Merlin's sake. Either this was Narcissa's letter or Lucius was visiting him entirely too often.

_I have come across the most intriguing recipe for a soaking bath._

Well, at least the penmanship looked more like Narcissa's. It was still hard to tell.

_I've included the article, wondering if you would consider lending your considerable talent to the task of creating it for me. I'm more than happy to pay for your time._

Hmm...Frivolity aside, this had to be Narcissa. He skimmed to the bottom of the missive and confirmed her mark before sliding the papers in his hand to reveal the second page. Indeed, it was an intriguing recipe, one that was advertised as a calmative, but as he quickly calculated the parts of the potion...he thought this bit of work could easily calm the nerves frayed after prolonged contact with the Cruciatus Curse. Who in their most brilliant mind would just _give_ away this recipe? He scanned the article clipping for information on the creator, but only found the initials HG accompanying the Witch Weekly article.

Witch Weekly? Bah. He'd be hard pressed to believe something printed in that rag, but...there it was...

He read over the instructions again and was fairly certain that, if he didn't have the ingredients on hand, he could gather the rest within the grounds fairly quickly. Hmm. HG. Well, there was the obvious do-gooder, Granger, and this was certainly (and amazingly) simple enough for an amateur potioneer to create, but that girl had not a creative bone in her frizzy head. He'd sooner believe that Horace had changed his last name and decided to take an oath of charity. Which would be a far fetch for either, he thought with a scoff.

Regardless of who HG really was, he'd start on the potion for Narcissa immediately. He could test it out, himself.

To ensure efficacy, of course.

\o.

Severus was striving very hard to understand just how someone would ethically release for free and into the wider public a calmative bath soak for post-cruciatus nerve damage that just happened to have the most odd side effect of ecstatic libido response. He was also wracking his brain trying to think of who HG could possibly be. There were only so many potioneers who were licensed, but so many more who were not, or were working under a company-wide, or even ministry-wide license of operation or research. Even with that broad spectrum of able bodied persons, he'd taught most of them, and the wizarding public of Britain was not a large one.

He leaned back in the copper slipper tub, letting his knees drop apart to rest on the high walls in complete relaxation, a bone deep harmony his body hadn't achieved in...well, decades. He wasn't sure if he'd met this person whether he would likely congratulate or strangle them. He supposed it would depend upon the person's identity as to his reaction.

His mind floated again to the possibility of HG being Hermione Granger and wondered, if it were she, why _she _would allow such a potion into the free populace. Good intentions and Gryffindor nobility aside, this was the heady stuff of dreams. He'd never consider in a million years to just _give _it away. It had been hard enough to let the patents slip through his fingers for his Anti-Venom modifications when it would have been disastrous to claim them.

As the bath's steam distracted him and stirred his 'senses' once more, he wondered lightly just what Miss Granger would look like, now, and whether she was still attached at the hip to Potter or Weasley.

|o|

"Bloody bird!" Severus bit off a hex that neatly sliced off a few tail feathers of the aggravating owl that had just smacked him on the head again. "I should fry that fowl up and serve it to Lucius." He called out to the departing owl, "It would certainly be an improvement to the avian population!"

Hearing nothing in response, he turned back to his desk and read his letter, but instead of a pleasant missive from Narcissa, or a meddling one from Lucius, he read the dinner invitation and crumpled it in his hand. Here was the reason Narcissa had him make that potion. He should have known there would have been an ulterior motive attached, but he was now wrapped up in the intrigue of a new puzzle...If she sent him not just the potion, but the article announcing it, and then a dinner invitation...Just what was Narcissa up to?

Well, obviously, he didn't have a choice but to go dine with them. It was only polite, now, if he wanted to maintain equilibrium between the school and it's most munificent governor.

He smoothed his fisted invitation down to the mahogany desk and cursed lightly into the room.

\o\

Lucius watched his owl return from its mission with a smirk, then turned to watch his wife converse via floo with their other dinner guest.

"Oh, please say you're still coming."

Hermione actually looked a bit harried as she reassured Narcissa, "I am, Narcissa, don't worry. I'm just flooing to let you know I'll be a bit late. I'm sorry, but Kingsley needs me to finish yet another report on the Initiative before I leave, and one of my clients is having a hard time reconciling my instructions."

He snorted at his wife's sarcastic return, "I can't imagine why."

"Well, I'll be there, I promise. I'll just have to leave him with instructions. A good task in restraint never hurt anyone."

"Out of curiosity—"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I've got to run! I won't be more than a half hour late, I swear! Bye!"

He chuckled and watched his wife turn to Dimity to continue her instructions for the evening. He was dying with curiosity, however, and couldn't wait for her to finish, "What was that all about?"

She laughed, shooed off the house elf, and looked entirely pleased with herself, "Miss Granger will be late this evening."

Lucius raised a pale eyebrow to let his wife know he knew she was evading the question, "No, I meant the part where she promptly disappeared the moment you started asking about her other client."

Narcissa smiled wickedly, "Well, I'm not one to spin tales, but Winifred told me she'd heard from her son, who works in the same office as our esteemed muggleborn, that yesterday, she was seen conversing rather heatedly with Mister Weasley and that she'd told him to either listen to her instructions or take his problems elsewhere."

The couple sat down facing each other in a pair of golden damask wing back chairs before Lucius tilted his head playfully, "Oh, really?"

"Apparently, she's trying to straighten out Ronald's eating problem." Narcissa leaned forward, eager to share her thoughts with her husband, "Remember when she agreed to work with us outside the Initiative's curriculum? What did she say?"

"That she'd do it, but not to mix it with anything intimate. Something about keeping that part for her private life, I think?"

"So we now know that someone special isn't Ronald Weasley. When I suggested we introduce Hermione and Severus in her capacity as a Domme, I was thinking he might be that someone special."

She laughed at her husband's surprised expression and wistfully continued, "May-December Romances can be quite lovely, don't you think?"

Lucius leaned back in his chair, chuckling doubtfully, "You're out of your bloody mind."

His wife started laughing quietly and had the look of a bird of prey stooping for the kill.

He shook his head and made to stand, "Poor Severus. I'd better get him good and drunk before your little chuchu shows up."

Narcissa could barely withhold her laughter.

/o/

Severus arrived on time for dinner, which was for him, fifteen minutes early. To his surprise, Narcissa herself let him in and took his arm.

After a quick peck on his bearded cheek, she clucked, "Oh, no, darling, that won't do. Come with me and we'll have Dimity fix you up in no time."

He looked down to the petite blonde and scoffed, "Narcissa, that's hardly necessary."

Her tone was light, with an undercurrent of steel and he knew better than to buck. She spoke as she led him to a nearby parlor, "I won't have you dropping beard-hair into the vichyssoise." Turning to give him a warning glare, she continued, "Or having your seconds stored there for later consumption. Now come along."

Lucius was inside, leaning against the fireplace with a glass in hand. He lifted it to Severus in a haphazard salute and asked, "Care for a drink?"

Severus opened his mouth, but glared down to Narcissa as she stole his thunder and scolded her husband quickly, "Lucius, don't be absurd. You know Severus doesn't drink."

He smirked at his wife and put his glass on the mantle. "Cigar, then?" Severus didn't know what else to do. If he refused something he'd had before that they knew he liked, he'd be rude. Better nod and just take one. What harm would a quick smoke be, anyway? Knowing Narcissa, there was bound to be other people at this dinner party and he probably needed the calming effect of a good tobacco.

Lucius nodded back, "I'll have Cambric bring it up. Any preference?"

Severus cocked an eyebrow, not knowing what to ask for, so he settled for brass, "Your most expensive one. In recompense for tricking me out here."

They both cackled and told him he was so very droll. Hmm. Both of them had their hand in it, then.

Before he could give that too much thought, Narcissa has pushed him down into a ridiculously large piece of gilded furniture and called out, "Dimity!"

With a pop, the little house-elf appeared and bowed to Narcissa, "Yes, mistress?"

"I need Headmaster Snape barbered and lovely within fifteen minutes."

They both looked to him with assessing gazes and a little nod from the elf. With a subservient, "Yes, mistress. Right away, mistress," the little elf popped away again.

Another pop brought Cambric, Lucius' personal house-elf, with a very darkly wrapped cigar that smelled of earthy tannins and perfectly aged tobacco with just a hint of brandy. Hmph, sneaky. He accepted the cigar with a nod, the elf sheared off the end and presented it again. Properly settling the cigar in his mouth, he leaned forward for the elf to light it, which it did with a snap of its tiny, bulbous fingers. It popped away before he could even take a single puff.

Narcissa watched him draw in the full flavor of the cigar and hold it in the back of his mouth before slowly blowing it out in a smoky wave.

She waved away the fume with her hand, "I should harangue you about that, but as that was from the box I picked out, it would be hypocritical."

Well, then. He sat back in the chair and pulled again on the flavorful smoke, blowing it out with a spark of magic to change the shape into a skull and crossbones. "Very nice. Thank you."

She frowned but a moment before smirking back at him, "You're welcome. I'm so glad to see you enjoying something just for the sake of it."

He gave her a small smile from behind a rather decent and smoky Hogwarts flying boar that again dissipated at a wave of her hand. Dimity arrived again, this time with her barbering effects in tow.

While the elf was lining up her instruments and conjuring a ewer of hot water to place a towel in, Severus untied his cravat, opened his collar, and looked up to Narcissa, confused, "I don't think I follow."

She sat down, finally, on the pair to his armchair and explained, "According to Lucius, you've been living like a Methodist for half a year. He thinks you've given up on the better things in life."

Severus had to wait while Dimity laid an apron across his chest, wrapped his face in the hot towel for a moment, then lifted the towel away before responding, "I may choose my company with extreme prejudice, and I may refrain from exposing myself to the maddening populace, but my voluntary seclusion has absolutely nothing to do with enjoying a good cigar when offered freely."

He placed his cigar on the amber glass ash tray provided while the elf trimmed his beard and mustache down close to his face, then directed the levitated shaving brush to lather his face. He had to admit, it felt rather nice to be pampered like this. He closed his eyes and let her continue barbering.

"I must allow, that's a relief. We've been wondering about your voluntary seclusion."

Narcissa's voice was far removed from him. "Mmm," was all he could say in response as Dimity started in with the freshly sharpened straight razor and very carefully scraped the hair from his face. He held in a sigh. Normally, he didn't give a damn about the details of a good shave, but this was nice. The elf's fingers were light and the blade scrape was surprisingly gentle. The cold wetness left behind in the clean wake of Dimity's ministrations was highly sensitizing and he itched to press his hands against his newly chilled cheeks.

A tentative voice asked from somewhere to his right, "Does the Headmaster wish for a clean shave or to keep his mustache?"

He waited for the blade to be lifted away from his neck before responding, "Might as well do away with the lot of it."

The little fingers took up shaving again and he closed his eyes. He didn't want to watch the silver blade so close to his bite scar and barely refrained from swallowing against it, but at the same time, he knew he needed to trust Dimity or she would hurt him. It was a very interesting thought process and one he needed to think on, more. His heart pounded in his throat with every gentle scrape and he couldn't help but open his eyes when she lifted his prodigious nose to finish out on his upper lip.

Narcissa was still watching, from what he could tell. He didn't know how he felt over being watched while being shaved. She apparently saw him looking at her and attempted to distract him, "Are you eating well enough up at the school? You look positively emaciated."

Again, a heartbeat of waiting until the blade was done and lifted from his face to be cleaned in another bowl of water on the end table.

As soon as the blade was clear, he responded with an annoyed tone, "Yes and I'm fine."

While the towel was wrapped around his face again, he thought of something to tease her with in a counter-distraction and waited patiently for the lovely warmth to be pulled away. He did let out a quiet sigh when Dimity was done and was presented with a hand mirror for his approval. With an annoyed twist of his lips, he took the mirror and said to Narcissa distractedly, "I rather thought I'd add owl to my menu, though."

He looked in the mirror and was surprised at how long his hair looked now that he no longer had the beard to balance it out. He'd never really even noticed the slight curl at the ends now that it was longer, but he did notice Narcissa's moue of distaste at his comment.

He chuckled and handed the mirror back to the elf, who disappeared with all of her accoutrements. "Teach your bird some manners. It's like receiving messages from a long-eared, spotty teenager."

"Spotty!"

He buttoned up his collar and retied his cravat with a smirk. He'd known that would strike a target and inwardly crowed with laughter. "Tell me your owl doesn't have spots."

She wrinkled her nose, "Not like that! That's disgusting, Severus."

He looked up to her innocently, "When's dinner, then? I'm suddenly famished, with all this talk of food."

At her further disgust, he finally released a small chuckle and took up his cigar again. "Seriously, though, if your menu selection is anywhere near as lovely as this cigar, I may gorge myself."

Narcissa's chastising gaze was returned with a slightly playful glare before she answered, "Dinner will be delayed for a bit. You know I simply have to have an even number of people at the table."

"Yes, I do. Very well, I might add." All those damned nights awaiting some random person to show up just to make things even were ingrained very well into Severus' brain as wasteful, but something one must endure to enjoy the delights of a Malfoy six-course.

She gave him another look, "Our fourth flooed about an hour ago to say she'll be late."

A female, eh? What were they up to? "Hmm. Cigars, food, dining companionship...I should think you were trying to sell me something."

Her face was suddenly and surprisingly serious, "Only that you need to get out and live your life, before you're in the grave."

He held her gaze for a moment, but looked away with an expulsion of breath, uncomfortable with the turn of conversation. In an attempt to shock her into a different avenue, he responded, "I've rather given up on meeting Death on my own terms. There have been too many interruptions to let me think it'll happen any other way than spontaneously."

"That's a bit dark, don't you think?"

"Perhaps. I find the timing of my demise no longer holds sway over me. I live my life as I please."

She tilted her head, as if to gauge the truth of his words, "Do you, really?"

He looked to her sharply, brows drawn together and said almost too emphatically, "Yes. I will rejoin the wizarding world if and when I see fit. Not a moment before."

She shook her head in apparent sadness, "Lucius will be so disappointed."

The subject of her response spoke in an odd tone from the parlor door, "That I will." Narcissa smiled at him and Severus turned to see him enter the room and move aside to let in their fourth.

He couldn't have been more shocked if they'd brought in Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington.

Hermione Granger stood at the door, not fifteen feet away, and as he took in her surprisingly grown up appearance, she said something suspiciously like, "So will I."

As each of them were dressed for dinner, he really shouldn't have been stunned by her dark gray silk robes, but they were startling from what he remembered of the jumper-and-jeans wearing teenager he'd seen last. Simple, elegant and tailored, the silk wrapped around her sensibly, much like a softer version of Minerva's daily robes, but on her...Miss Granger...they looked simply stunning.

Why the hell was he even bothering thinking about her dress robes? He hid behind his cigar and was saved by Narcissa standing with grace to receive her newest guest of the evening.

"Ah, Hermione, how lovely you look. Please have a drink with me. Madeira?"

"Thank you, Narcissa. I'd love to."

He listened to their familiarity with another surprise. So, they all had gotten chummy during his self-imposed sequester. Hmm. Well, that explained the potion's origination and how Narcissa came across it.

With that realization, that Miss Granger was the one irresponsible for the widespread release of a very valuable potion, Severus could finally look at her with an appropriate amount of disdain.

She stared back at him with a closed expression from only a few feet away, taking a seat closer to the fire. He thought perhaps he hadn't seen her since she'd left him behind in the Shrieking Shack and he wondered what she thought of that. That and how in hell could she handle coming back to a place where she'd been tortured and humiliated?

"Come to revisit old memories, Miss Granger?"

Narcissa handed her a cordial glass of dark liquid that glowed in her hand, backlit as it was from the fire. She thanked her hostess and took a small sip before smiling in appreciation at her. Her smile turned a bit wry as she looked down, then lifted her chin back up to him in a defiant response, "Rather to make new ones in the spirit of fraternity. We've all grown beyond the definitions of our past, I'd say."

"Here, here! Narcissa, do you mind accompanying me to the dining room for a moment? Something seems off with the setting."

His wife seemed wary but acquiescent and followed him out the door. Severus narrowed his eyes at the uncharacteristic blatancy of Lucius' request. What on earth were they trying to do? He looked back to Miss Granger, who was giving their hosts' backs a perturbed glare of her own.

Again, she was much more comfortable and familiar in her surroundings than he'd have expected. He decided to wait her out, to see what she would start small talk with, since it was so obviously expected of them.

She took another sip of her Madeira and held the glass in her lap, meeting his gaze and holding it before saying, rather uselessly, "So."

He continued smoking his cigar and puffed out a small dagger in her direction, "So."

She rolled her eyes, turned her head and looked about the room for conversation. Apparently she'd found it in the depths of the obvious, "I hear you're still the Headmaster."

Deciding he didn't have any reason to hide his animosity towards her, he responded acidly, "Oh really? I haven't heard anything at all about you."

Interestingly enough, she ignored his response and asked, again, the obvious, "Are you still researching and creating potions? Is that why the Malfoys maneuvered us together like this?"

He narrowed his gaze, "I am, and I have no idea. Up until today, I didn't know I was invited."

"Oh. Well, if it's any consolation, she only set the time last night."

Which either meant she was better at hiding her part in this than he suspected, or Lucius and Narcissa were playing them both. Either way, he responded dryly, "My nerves are considerably at ease."

She tilted her head in apparent irritation, "Is that a shot at my potion?"

He smirked, "Surely if it had been, _you_ would know."

Her doubtful expression gave way, but she merely responded with, "H-uh."

As she was willing to let his initial barb go, he felt the urge to prod some more. "HG. I should have known that an over-achiever such as yourself would be behind such a multitasking creation."

Her snotty and blunt confusion reminded him of many an argument in his classroom with this little brat. She looked down her nose in affront, "Multitasking? It's a calmative and a bath soak, but I don't know how that makes it multitasking."

He'd eat his cravat if she didn't know..."You really don't know the reason for the skyrocketing success of this potion?"

She shrugged, again with vague affront, "I saw a need. Everyone needed something to help with the physical and mental responses built up after the Voldemortian Wars."

Physical and mental responses, indeed, "Including yourself?"

She bit off quickly, "Yes."

He leaned forward to tap his ash into the tray beside him, "And what of the side effects? Have you considered those?"

There she went, sticking her chin up in the air again, like a mini-McGonagall, "A general feeling of goodness and well-being. What of it?"

Surely, she knew..."_And?_"

"And what?"

He narrowed his eyes at her again, sitting back with a draw on his cigar, "How many times have you _used_ this bath soak of yours?"

Here she started looking panicked. Aha!

She hid it well beneath her defensive answer, "Once. Or twice. Of course I'd use my own product, wouldn't you?"

He let the silence between them speak for itself and let her squirm.

She, of course, took the bait, "Are you implying something? Why don't you come out and say what you mean."

He smiled inwardly and thought that at least she'd asked for it, "Ah. Well, then, if you're asking for it: Of those once or twice times you partook of your own product, how many of those bath-times had...happy endings?"

His cocksure, superior puff of smoke floated between them both.

She flustered and parried, "Oh, now that's getting entirely too personal. I don't see what that has _anything _to do with our conversation."

He surprised himself by chuckling into the room, "Amazing. She creates a legal aphrodisiac and doesn't even know it."

There was a lightly teasing tone to her affronted, "I beg your pardon?"

Dropping all pretense, he leaned forward, aggressively channeling the poisonous professor she would know well, "You should. You should beg the pardon of every person in the wizarding population." Her surprise formed a soft little 'oh' on her mouth, but he continued, relentless, "How dare you just hand out the instructions to something like this for any tomfool dunderhead to attempt? Have you no shame? Not even a sense of entrepreneurship? For that matter, what license are you working under?"

Ah, that got her dander up, "My own!"

He humphed in disbelief, "From whom?"

"Master Jigger! Of course!" She floundered for a moment, then, came on the attack, "You'd disappeared into the depths of Hogwarts before I could congratulate you on surviving the Shrieking Shack and ask your mentorship, myself, and there's no one else I'd have considered except the man who'd mentored you."

The slight jolt of pleasure at the thought of her seeking him out was quickly bullied down by the reality of the situation, "Was that before or after you'd left me to rot?"

Her shriek could surely be heard by their hosts, "What!? There was a war going on! We thought you were dead—we saw you die!"

He ignored her pointing arm and growled back, "It took Poppy hours to even bother coming to find me. Did you just forget to mention it, or was I so unimportant that your time wasn't worth the effort?"

The pointing arm came up again to jab its end into his chest and her anger was renewed, "You shut it, Severus Snape! We were doing the best we could with no training or help or direction from you _or_ from Dumbledore."

He threw his cigar into the fire and stood up to roar over her, "Do not speak his name in my presence, and how dare you say you had no help from me! I know Potter showed you those memories, he told me so in the infirmary."

She shrieked back up at him, "Sure! After you were already DEAD!"

He had a moment to admire a worthy opponent and a heaving breast beneath gray silk before Narcissa barged in with placations, "My goodness! Hermione, Severus, we leave you alone for a few moments and you're nearly at each others throats!"

They looked away from each other in mild embarrassment. He was the first to step away and speak, "My apologies, Narcissa, but the current atmosphere has turned me off any thought of dinner."

A disappointed plea came from Lucius, "You're not leaving."

He took in a shaky breath. What had gotten into him? "I think it would be for the best."

Narcissa tried with, "Oh, won't you stay? Miss Granger didn't mean any harm, I'm sure."

He looked down to the pale hand on his black sleeve, then up to the gray-blue eyes of his hostess, "While I put much faith in your opinion, I do not believe-"

"No, wait," Miss Granger gathered his attention with her interruption, "She's right, I didn't mean it."

They shared a look where she was truly appearing apologetic and embarrassed. Well, perhaps he could spend the rest of dinner giving her hell over it.

Narcissa saw their pause as considering and hopeful, and continued blithely, "See there? Come. We'll have a lovely dinner in the small dining room and perhaps the atmosphere will improve upon a few removes."

He sighed in defeated acceptance, when he was really planning a few barbs for the other guest.

His hostess turned back to him and asked sweetly, "Escort me in?"

Nodding, he offered his elbow and stalked off towards the dining room.

;\

"I know what you're thinking."

Lucius looked down to Hermione after watching his wife and friend depart the room. This was going better than anything he could have ever planned. Desperate to keep his satisfaction from showing on his face, he arched a brow at his guest in a slightly playful manner and asked, "Do you? How fascinating. Are you adding Legilimens to the list of your talents as well?"

She took his arm and let him lead her out of the room. "That's not what I meant and you know it."

A silent "ah" came out of his mouth as he measured his pace to keep their relative privacy. What else would she say?

Out of the corner of his eye, he was surprised to find his newest friend and Domme, flustered and hesitant, "I didn't mean to downright attack him."

Fascinating. He honestly didn't know she had this kind of reaction in her. He decided to poke a little bit at it to see what would happen, "And yet you did."

Her open response was rather revealing, "The thing is, I do feel guilty about leaving him after that snake bit him. I feel like I was just a kid, and I was scared, and we were trying to get through the night in one piece. I feel guilty for being selfish and choosing to just...to just leave him. I feel like part of his...erm...hiding from everyone, is because we didn't give him any reason to think we wanted him around. That's probably why I..."

She tapered off just at the good part, he thought. Still, they were at the door and he needed to redirect as succinctly as possible, "As informative as this is, it is not me that needs to hear it. And we're at dinner now, so please, no unpleasant topics of discussion to put us off the paté."

"Um, right. Sorry."

Her quietly embarrassed acceptance had him dizzy. This woman, his and his wife's 'marriage counselor', so to speak, was nearly unhinged by Severus Snape. As she inhaled and nodded her acceptance of his implication that she needed to say these things to her former professor instead of him, he realized that perhaps there was more to this equation than what _Severus_ needed.

Well, that would make some of Cissa's meal choices interesting, most certainly.

-end chapter-

reminder: go to Jukepop's Avon Fanlit competition (search for it in google since I can't post a link here) and read, write, vote, whatever! Remember, I'm the one with the compass image ;)

Sweet dreams! Xoxo Dena


	6. Chapter 6

**Okay, THIS chapter I've been GAGGING to post for THREE YEARS! I'm so glad I get to share this with you. SOOOO much planning went into this chapter and it was one of the first I wrote for this story. The menu was extensively researched, but should you find any mistakes, please know they are mine and not some fabulous chef's. **

As I noted in the foreword, there is a bit in here about Fois Gras. I am writing as I think the characters would respond, so don't kill me. This is a sensitive subject to some people, so please be warned I have a small, brief description of the process (nothing gory) and arguments for and against it. Many of you probably think I'm crazy for giving this much header space for goose liver, but I have been in some serious arguments about it, so I'm covering my butt.

"Other than that, have a good time!" - Lou Ann, (Shag)

**Chapter 6**

Severus flooed back to Hogwarts, then proceeded to tug off and toss his robes wherever they might land in complete aggravation. He looked around his humble quarters and sighed in frustration, heading for the bathroom.

He really needed something to calm his nerves.

His freedom from society was starting to take its toll. Yanking off his trousers and pants in one shove, he flicked his wand at the bath and directed water from the tap to the copper slipper tub sitting proudly in the center of his bathroom. He'd already added Miss Granger's tonic before realizing it was _Miss Granger's_ tonic that he was adding. Looking at the vial now shaking in his hand, he fought with himself on his reasons to use or not to use what little pleasures were left to him.

It was clear that had he left early on in the evening after his and Miss Granger's shouting match, he would have simply thrown this bottle to the wall and let it smash, splattering his re-creation all over the stone wall.

Hmph. Re-creation. Recreation. Now there was a word with double meaning, if ever there was one.

His thumb slid over the glass in his hand and he added a more generous amount to the now steaming water. He dropped the newly empty container onto the bathroom counter and made his way to slip into the soak.

"Ohhh. Merlin, just the right temperature."

Perfect for easing away the troubles arising from his previously unfortunate seating arrangement.

The dinner had been a casual affair, by Malfoy standards, and Miss Granger had been seated directly across from him at a small, square table. The flower arrangement and fairy lights floated a few feet above the presentation, lending a lovely, delicate scent to each remove. He'd paid careful attention to their meal to refrain from having even polite interaction with his former student.

He'd smirked at the plating of dragon fruit, and glanced sideways at Lucius, but he merely sliced the fruit into a smaller portion and bit in. Odd. Normally, his hosts would at least be sharing glances at their private joke, but Narcissa wasn't even looking in his direction. She was eying Miss Granger.

With a slight expulsion of breath though his nostrils in irritation, he refocused on his own plate. After trimming the savory slice of fruit down to an edible size and taking a bite, he had been pleasantly surprised at the revelation of it being soaked in grape vodka. That combination with an aside of small, peeled lychee was brilliant. Knowing that silence would be a higher compliment, he simply enjoyed his fruit.

Miss Granger, however, was not aware of proper table manners, or had been made of more earthy stock than he'd previously assumed. Her delighted moan of appreciation was met by three pairs of eyes, but she looked to Narcissa first.

"I'm sorry, but this is amazing. What is it?"

Their hostess started to take pity and explain, but Severus couldn't resist the opportunity, "Something the know-it-all doesn't know?"

Miss Granger glared at him in that stuck-up expression she so favored, "I'm sorry, but I wasn't aware I needed to study before coming to dinner."

He couldn't help but rejoin with his standard, "Not all learning-"

"Comes from books. Yes, I remember."

He glared at her interruption, and was about to let her know exactly how he felt about that when Narcissa intervened,

"Children."

If he wasn't the one glaring down Narcissa at the same time Miss Granger was, he'd have laughed at the duality of it. As it was, he merely resumed eating his fruit in dejected silence.

"Let's keep our civility, Severus. It's understandable if Hermione doesn't know about fruits imported from Mexico and China."

The young lady in question rejoined in a pointed tone, "Yes, thank you, Narcissa."

He looked up at her with slitted eyes and she gave him a look that said 'there, take that'. He sneered and watched as their plates disappeared and their second course took form.

Neatly distracted by the dish before him, he started compiling the ingredients in his head. He could see the beetroots and ricotta...and what looked like black currants. The taste was divinely complex, with a flavor of a light, fruity, floral wine vinegar. There was a yellow petal as garnish and he assumed the wine was partly made from gorse. He nearly moaned, himself, but kept in check.

He glanced to Miss Granger to see her face curled in ecstasy. She also refrained from commenting but was clearly enjoying herself.

He shifted in his seat and looked down to take another bite.

That course was gone far too quickly, but was replaced with something equally beautiful. He wondered why he'd not been treated to such rich fare as this in so long, but then remembered he was in company of an esteemed guest. Hmph. If they'd rolled out the red carpet for that bushy haired know-it-all, what did that make him?

He stabbed his soup spoon into the jaunty pear-half sitting mockingly in the middle of a generous puddle of vichyssoise. Bringing the spoon closer, he inhaled the peppery scent of watercress and something else...something... He tasted the spoonful and his mouth was instantly caressed by a creamy horseradish sauce along with the buttermilk, peppery watercress and sweet asian pear. He sighed in contentment. He could create these dishes. He could. Damn the Malfoys and their selective pampering, he could very well make these dishes himself.

He could even afford the exotic ingredients if he wanted to...he sighed again, this time in consternation. It didn't matter what he wanted, if he only made it for himself, did it?

He silently ate three more spoonfuls of soup, careful not to scrape the bowl of his spoon against the crystal it was served in. Severus had just looked up to see Miss Granger's reaction to the soup when she met his eyes with a smile. He closed his expression and drank in the sight of her unadulterated excitement. She was genuinely enjoying herself.

He felt the magic of a plate change and looked down at their next course, registering shock. Looking back across the table, he wondered if she knew their hosts had spent a small fortune on their 'salad', if this could be called such. Delicate arrangements of seafood and vegetables, some topped with gold leaf, some with a very pale, buttery caviar. He glanced around the table and found several dynamics at this dish. Lucius shared a smirk with Severus and went right for the caviar. The younger, darker man nearly choked at the speedy relish his host devoured several hundred pounds worth of sturgeon roe.

Narcissa was peeping at Miss Granger through her lashes, waiting for a response. He mentally scoffed. If the girl had no idea what fruit they'd been eating, how was she to know anything about the dish of delights before her?

She was apparently full of surprises, however, as she looked to Narcissa in concern. Their hostess met her eyes and took a bite of lobster garnished with caviar, pointedly indicating with a raised eyebrow that, yes, she should eat it.

Miss Granger's eyes met the table and a slow blush rose to her face. Hmm. She was apparently aware of at least an idea of the cost and was now gathering her nerve to put a small bite worth at least a hundred pounds into her mouth.

For some odd reason, he decided to match her bite with size and timing, watching her chew the soft, silky, nutty roe with slow deliberation. When her mouth moved, so did his. He wanted to watch her face and know exactly what she was tasting as it happened. He couldn't fathom the reason why, he'd just done it.

There was a crystalline moment when she looked across the table and met his eyes, then swallowed. She blinked, and while watching him watch her, she raised another portion, slowly opening her mouth to slip the delicacy inside and dragging the silver out from between soft, flushed, glistening lips.

His eyes flickered between those lips and her eyes, but she'd dropped her gaze too quickly to the table.

Indeed.

He shifted his seat ever so slightly and tasted the crab.

At home, he relived that unexpected memory as he carefully tied his hair on top of his head and leaned back into the copper slipper tub. His hands ran through the water, waving it over his shoulders as he hunched even farther down. He inhaled the sweet fragrance of chamomile and felt the tonic start to work on his nerves, for they had indeed been frayed by the time he'd left for the evening. Running his fingers along his skin, he noted the pleasant feeling trailing after each touch, like the tail of a star chasing light.

He closed his eyes and remembered the next course as it lay before them.

It was, wonderfully enough, rabbit stuffed with foie gras, served with avocado, watercress, mushrooms and leeks. From his nose to his mouth, down his throat to his stomach, every bite was utter perfection.

Miss Granger finally had an attack of conscience.

"I can't eat that."

He smirked and prod, "Whyever not? Afraid of eating Babbity Rabbity?"

He was surprised when all she did was shake her head – where had she learned of the wizarding children's tale? – and glared, "The foie gras. I know how that's made and I just can't..." She actually looked a little shaken.

He made his argument with a perplexed expression, "So you'd prefer it for the goose to have died in vain?"

"What?"

There seemed to be an undercurrent of something else being said between them, but he ignored those greater implications and carried on, "The deed is done, Miss Granger. Why not enjoy the results of such care?"

She looked down at her plate, then back up again, unsure.

Lucius carefully interjected, "Have you never tried it?"

She shook her head.

Severus was quick to sneer, "Then you don't know why it's considered such a delicacy."

Her argumentative nature reared its bushy head again, "But it's torture. It's inhumane."

Apparently neither of their hosts felt the need to correct her, so it was up to him. He resorted to teaching mode and asked her, "Is it inhumane to grow a fruit and pluck it once it's ripe?"

She shook her head again, gulping out, "That's different."

"Is it?"

Glaring at him, she responded, "You don't stuff it full of food until the liver explodes."

He scoffed and sat back in his seat, "Really. You must know your subject if you wish to argue its purpose."

And of course, that got her dander up, "We toured a poultry farm in France when I was a child! I saw them!"

Now for the counter-attack, "What did you see? Hmm? Exploded livers everywhere? Gavages strewn about?"

Her suddenly unsure gaze met his across the table, "No."

Needing more to work with, he pushed back with a, "Well?"

"The ducks and geese couldn't walk, they were so fat. And there were so many of them."

He nearly rolled his eyes. "Hmm. A large population of well-kept, well-fed poultry. How horrifying for you."

Her response was typical, "You can't tell me the practice is ethical."

Oh-ho, time for correcting the do-gooder, "Can't I? A Jewish Rabbi condoned the practice as allowable under their dietary law because none of the limbs are damaged. It is one of the few fats they are allowed to cook with, so it's not particularly the liver these geese are fattened for. I supposed you'd care to tell me that thousands of years of Egyptian heritage is also unethical?"

Narcissa, ever the perfect hostess, intervened at the moment of Miss Granger's embarrassment. "You can either scrape it out," and her expression gave her thoughts on that course of action, "or you can give it a try, dear. It's already made and if you don't like it, we'll never serve it to you again."

Severus was rather put out that Narcissa redirected his repartee, but watched with hidden glee as Miss Granger, dejectedly and with grating knife on plate force, acquiesced to loading her fork with a portion of every content of the plate. They all watched as she bit carefully down, pulling the food into her mouth off her fork. As she rolled it across her tongue, taking one careful chew, her expression bloomed into near panic. She stopped chewing and stared, helplessly at each of her dinner partners, tears beginning to brim in her bright amber eyes.

Severus was rather afraid of her rejecting it completely, especially as he was directly across from her. He quickly admonished, "Hurry up and swallow, girl, before you spit it out."

It was Lucius' choking that clued him in to his verbal faux pas, rather than the hysterical chew-swallow-and-spluttering-laughter Miss Granger was now currently hiding behind her napkin. Narcissa just reached for her wine and rejoined, "Now, Severus, dear, you mustn't use such suggestive commentary outside intimate company. Who knows what Our Hermione must think of you, now."

Lucius chuckled a little more than was appropriate in appreciation.

Severus' face was completely flushed with embarrassment, which he quickly tried to hide behind a closed expression and a steady sip of wine. As he did so, he chanced a glance over the rim of crystal at 'their Hermione'.

Even later, in his soak, he covered his face and groaned at his unfortunate statement, but that was nothing in comparison with Miss Granger's rejoinder.

She caught his glance and lowered her napkin, revealing a flushed face and lips parted in laughter. She cut her eyes to each side, gathering the gauge of her audience before putting him smartly in his place. "Don't worry, sir. I know that good girls don't spit out something that's already in their mouths."

Lucius completely guffawed at that, obviously delighted at Miss Granger's coarse comment. Severus blushed harder, his mind immediately going to an image of those flushed, pink lips sucking him off. For some odd reason, he mentally retaliated with a visual of stuffing her mouth with his cock until she gagged from it, perhaps in the spirit of the foie gras they were eating, and really had to adjust his seat beyond subtlety.

Laughter died down to soft smiles. Miss Granger turned to their hostess, "Everything has been lovely, and I'm sorry about being so rude when you've so obviously taken a lot of care in preparing this menu. I can't wait to see what's next."

Narcissa smiled warmly and reached over to grasp her guest's hand in comfort, "Never you mind, Hermione. I'm glad you're enjoying it. Learning to enjoy the pleasures in life is not always what one would expect, don't you think?" She ended her gift of wisdom with a telling glance at Severus, most likely intending for her comment to be on his ascetic lifestyle. What it ended up being was a very charged insinuation that Miss Granger and himself should perhaps learn to enjoy _each other_.

He took another steadying sip of wine as Miss Granger answered, "Oh, absolutely. Some of the most rewarding knowledge can come from seeing a known subject in an entirely new light." Her own little pearl was given with a final bite of her rabbit stuffed with foie gras and a veiled look coquettishly through her lashes at Severus.

Back home, his hands were exploring very well-known territory with slight tugs and pulls at his genitalia. It was wrong, so very wrong to think of stuffing Miss Granger's mouth full of his cock, but at that moment, it felt like it could very well be the solution to all his problems. For all he knew, and for all her innuendo, she may actually like giving oral sex.

The thought of forcing her head down on him, only to have her submit to his cock-thrusting, was a heady thought. His left hand grasped his shaft fully and he groaned in appreciation of the tightness of his own hand and the hot, wet currents of water flowing across his body. He slipped his right hand down to roll his scrotum and slightly pull, moaning his heightened pleasure into the small room.

His mind drifted back to their final course: dessert. She made an absolute beggar of him and hadn't even known it. The chocolate cake would have been decadent on its own, but with the Marsala laced through the batter and passion fruit mousse layered between, it was absolutely delicious. To top all of that sweetness, there was a dollop of Italian mascarpone. He took one bite and was in thrall, but it was Miss Granger's reaction that had him matching her eating pattern again.

A low rumble reached his ears and he'd have almost looked for some small animal had it not been for the evidence before him. She was thrumming with ecstasy at the chocolate confection, still with the spoon in her mouth. Chocolate bark had melted on her lips and she unabashedly licked it clean with her tongue.

Narcissa's tittering laughter couldn't even tear his eyes away from the sight before him. She lifted another spoonful and so did he, matching bite for bite, watching, waiting, listening for the evidence of her pleasure. She dropped a hand into her lap, most likely innocently, but his mind went to think about what she _could_ be doing down there. He wanted to think about her humming and sucking on his cock like that, slipping her fingers into her feminine folds and moaning more loudly than before. He was utterly and completely captured by her devouring of dessert and the entire time, her eyes were closed. She was most likely fantasizing about having such a piece of culinary art at her disposal night and day and he was daydreaming about her licking that passion fruit mousse off his cock.

Licking it, just like a lolly.

He snapped to, clearing his throat and dropping his spoon to the dish with a clatter. Narcissa and Lucius were busy making eyes at each other when the noise abruptly disrupted them. Everyone turned to look at Severus and he cleared his throat again.

"P-pardon me. I think I've—got a bit of sweet stuck in my throat..." His eyes widened as he realized the possible connotations of what he'd just stumblingly said. Before he could completely embarrass himself, he flew to the wash room to splash cold water on his face. He should leave, he should leave now before he did something truly embarrassing.

And so he did.

Quietly calling a house elf, he informed the creature that he would be leaving and to let its mistress know as soon as dessert was over. Not looking back, he stalked over to the nearest fireplace and flooed back to Hogwarts with a loud huff.

He, of course, had not seen Lucius give Narcissa a concerned glance and then a nod when he'd felt his old friend leave their wards.

Sitting in the tub, he couldn't get the sound of Miss Granger's low, delicious thrum out of his head. He could easily picture her sucking off his staff like a Lolita with a lolly and his hand flew faster and faster over his engorged penis. A finger slipped over the glans and he gasped audibly, bucking up into his own hand with abandon.

He kept thinking about the chocolate, and all those lovely fruits passing over her lips, each flick of her tongue on her fork as she savored and swallowed. Her eyes gliding over to him in dark suggestion, the heave of her decolletage in her dark gray dress with its fitted drape, giving him the idea that, had she been sucking him off, he could easily see her breasts bouncing and shifting within.

Why was he fantasizing about her? So what if she was a former student, she was Hermione Granger! The one person who could quite possibly keep him on his toes had him on his back, daydreaming for her mouth.

That mouth...

He could almost feel her tongue caressing him, muscling across his turgid skin as she sucked her cheeks hollow with his cock in her mouth.

Almost there...

In his mind, her eyes flared up to meet his as she serviced him and he bucked forward, shoving every last inch of himself into her hot oral cavity...

A last thrust into his hand and he was in heaven, pulsing out the end of his evening into the still-hot water of Hermione's tonic.

xoxo

Muahahahaha...


End file.
